


Under the Shadows

by Deannie



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deannie/pseuds/Deannie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas Eve, and Sam is waiting for Al to come home and open his present. Pure schmoop!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Shadows

It's 8 o'clock on Christmas Eve, and Al is finally coming home.

He had a meeting in D.C.--about what, I don't know--on Saturday, and he should have been home by Sunday night. But, with my luck, National was socked in, and he's spent the last three nights in an airport hotel. We've talked on the phone, but not being able to trim the tree with him this year just made the whole activity seem wrong.

"Go ahead and get the thing put up, Kid," he'd almost ordered on Saturday. "I'll be home as soon as I can, and I want that tree shining by the time I get there."

Regardless of his orders, I put the tree-trimming off until this afternoon, which is why, at 8:13 on Christmas Eve, I've finally finished decorating the place. It's perfect now.

Now all I need is Al.

You'd think, after all the years I spent leaping, I'd learn to deal with it when he goes away. But maybe that's just made it harder to be apart from him. When I finally stepped out from that final leap and into his arms, I suddenly realised all the time we'd lost. And now it seems like, every time he goes away, I start some sort of clock going in my head: "Al and I have lost x number of hours because of such and such a trip."

He was so excited on the phone this afternoon, when his flight had finally started boarding.

"I'll be home by nine, Sammy," he promised, his voice shining with happiness. "You'd better be ready, Kid, because I want to open my present as soon as I get there!"

One present on Christmas Eve. It was a tradition in the orphanage where he grew up. It's usually something small, something sweet... Some gag gift that only the two of us would understand. But as I lie here now, I realise that, just this once, there isn't any gag.

* * *

 

I remember a preacher at my church when I was a kid,, talking about those traditions that are yours and yours alone. A special food you eat, a special way of doing things. These are the things that define Christmas for you, he said. Right now, at 8:39 on Christmas Eve, I'm engaging in my favourite old tradition, waiting for Al to get home so that we can start a new one.

When I was a kid, the Christmas tree went up the last weekend before Christmas. We'd spend Saturday untangling lights and hunting up our favourite ornaments. Then, when everybody else had gone to sleep, I'd sneak down to the family room and lie down under the tree, watching the lights flash on and off against the ceiling, outlining random branches and shadows of ornaments. I'd just lie there, nestled in the smell of the sturdy old pine tree, and stare up at the silent, changable tableau on the ceiling.

This year I went against Al's wishes with the lights. "No flashers," he'd declared the first year we lived in this house together. "Damn things give me a headache!"

Well this year, there are flashers. He'll just have to deal with it. And now, at 8:54 on Christmas Eve, I have to fight the urge to switch out that flasher. I don't want Al to get mad, but...

But I'm really having too much fun waiting for it to be 9:00 pm.

 

* * *

 

I can't believe the traffic!

Sam expected me home almost half an hour ago, and I'm still half an hour away!

Still, at least I'll be home by Christmas. I was afraid, for a while there, that D.C. would stay snowed in forever. I didn't think I was actually going to make it until the plane was in the air, and I was sitting back in my first class seat, counting the seconds until I was home again.

It's funny. Even at the begining of my time as a POW, I don't think I was ever as aware of time passing as I am when I'm away from him. It must be the time _he_ was away from _me_ that did it.

I remember every second that I saw him when he was leaping. Every time I stepped into that imaging chamber and had my Sammy, large as life and half as touchable, right there before me. I couldn't... I couldn't touch him, but at least I could see him--I could be with him.

Somehow, "reach out and touch someone" doesn't seem too appropriate for a phone call anymore.

Still, I'm almost home. It'll be ten by the time I get there, and I really should call and let him know... Nah, the kid'll be fine. He's probably hanging out watching those damn Christmas cartoons he likes so much.

 

* * *

 

It's 9:42 on Christmas Eve, and Al isn't home yet.

I called the airport, and they told me his plane got in on time. I'm back to lying under the Christmas tree now, trying to tell myself that he's just caught in traffic, or got delayed at the airport... Anything to stop myself from worrying.

Still, if he's fine, why hasn't he called?

No, come on, Sam. Al's fine. He's just late. Not like he hasn't been late before, right? Hell, if I had a penny for every time the Admiral's kept me waiting, I'd be rich by now!

He's fine... I close my eyes against the soothing shadows on the ceiling, and ruthlessly repeat it to myself: He's fine... Al's fine...

 

* * *

 

It's 10:15 before I'm finally home, and I get out of the car, looking at the silouette of the tree I can see through the curtains in the front window of our little house. He's got _flashers_ on the tree, damnit! He knows I hate that!

I unlock the front door, ready to give Sammy a little good-natured ribbing, and stop at the sight that greets me.

Sam is lying under the tree, fast asleep. Okay, not so strange for a kid who seems to have some wierd fascination with Christmas lights and ceilings... But he's wearing...

Needless to say, his state of undress is enough to remind me that I _do_ get to open one present tonight.

As if the kid knew exactly what I meant on the phone this afternoon, he's wrapped in a thick red velvet ribbon and nothing else. Well, nothing except that tag on his hand which says "Don't wait until Christmas to open."

I smile broadly at the thought. Like I could ever be patient where you're concerned, Sammy.

I should wake him up. I really should. I should wake him up and let him know I'm home and...

And _damn,_ I should really open my present!

 

* * *

 

I don't know at first, but I'm pretty sure, when a warm, callused hand runs up my left leg, stripping off the ribbon as it goes... I'm pretty sure Al is finally home.

I open my eyes lazily, looking up at him as he gazes back. He gets this look in his eyes sometimes. It's like lust, and love, and... shock, all in one. And if I ask him about it, he just smiles lightly, and says "It's still a miracle that _you_ want _me._ "

How could I not? Al is... perfect. He always has been. I've known it since the Starbright project, and there's no reason to rethink the assessment now. Especially not when he's cleared the ribbon off of one leg, and started on the other.

"Welcome home," I whisper gently, thinking about how surreal this scene is to me. Al, kneeling over me, the shadows of the Christmas lights bouncing off the ceiling above him, as he carefully, lovingly, opens his present.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Kid," he murmurs back, moving on to my arms but letting his hands brush maddeningly up my torso as he goes. "I almost missed opening my Christmas Eve present."

"Yeah," I smile back, relaxing fully as he gently extracts one of my arms from its ribbon. "And this one is only good for tonight. Tomorrow, it turns back into a pumpkin."

"A pumpkin?" Al asks, leaning in to give me a deep kiss that reminds me just how long a week apart can be. "You'll never turn into a pumpkin, Sam."

My limbs freed, he's turning his attention to my chest now. Like the arms and legs, I only wrapped the ribbon around it twice, but he takes his time, and I'm _way_ too hot by the time he's moved on to the final gift.

"You know, Sammy," he whispers, stopping his hands so that he can capture my attention with his eyes. "This might just be the best present anyone's ever given me. I don't think my present is going to measure up."

I reach one hand out to gently cup his balls through the gabardine slacks he's wearing. "I've seen your present, Al," I murmur warmly. "Trust me. It measures up."

I have to smile as he groans, leaning into the hand I have on him. My own "present" is trying to free itself, and he finally smiles and removes the last loop of ribbon from me, as my erection proves to him just how glad it is to see him.

"I'm glad I'm home, Sammy."

The kiss he gives me is deep and tender, and when I'm allowed to breathe again, I can only think of one thing to say.

"I love you, Al. Merry Christmas."

And under the shadows of the Christmas lights, Al makes sure it's very merry indeed.

* * *  
The End


End file.
